


After

by Wolver_bean



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Abuse, Amnesia, Dark, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mutant Rights, Nightmares, PTSD, Recovery, Self Harm, Weapon X - Freeform, Weapon X Project, alpha flight - Freeform, mutant experimentaion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolver_bean/pseuds/Wolver_bean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heather and Mac Hudson never expected a honeymoon crasher- But how did they manage to turn a disaster into a second chance? This is an exploration of Logan's recovery from being experimented on at Weapon X. This is Logan emerging from the worst time period of his life, to start over. This is after Weapon X.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue in this prologue is from Alpha Flight #34. The rest of the story is mainly headcanon and such. I decided to write this because every time I would read fic that referenced Weapon X, it would clash against my own headcanons.  
> Logan lived with Heather and Mac for ten years and I'm always confused when this fact is ignored. So this is to fill in the gaps.  
> I wish you smooth reading and secretly praying for updates, however slow they will be.

Breathing.

He was breathing.

Even. Slow. 

Calm.

Asleep. He was asleep.

Heather twirled the coiled phone cord in her slender fingers, anxiety curling in her heart.

She called Mac.

“Hello?”

She told him that the man was still sleeping, tied to the bed in the guest room. That he wasn’t dead. That the rifle she had fired at his heart hadn't killed him.

She told Mac that she was okay.

“Alright honey. I’ll be home in a couple hours, ‘kay? Just relax, have some tea. I’ll see you soon.”

Click.

Her new husband seemed so close, but he was so frighteningly far away.

A blizzard away.

 

What a honeymoon, indeed.

 

***

 

Aware.

Asleep. Heavy lids. Shoulder aches.

Chest aches.

Aches. Aware.

Wet pulse- The woman. She’s here. The woman who shot him.

The only woman who has ever shot him.

The thought doesn’t stick.

His hands are tied down.

No.

No.

Not again.

 

***

He was still alive. After they shot him thrice. Heather, not truly wishing to be a murder, tended to the man out of pity for herself. She managed to spoon him some warm water with painkiller snuck in it while a soup she had prepared cooked in the other room.

His unconsciousness eventually made Heather weary, and she found that she had dozed off to the sound of the whistling storm.

Some time later, she awoke. She lifted her head from the table to meet his eyes. His eyes were open. He was awake, looking at her, watching her. Why were his eyes so sad, so blue? How dare HIS eyes be so sad.

She balled her fists.

“Don’t stare at me like that! It’s not my fault you’re here!”

Heather couldn’t help herself. She was angry. The space behind her eyes boiled. She faced the man across the room, tied down to the guest bed. She yelled at him, fists balled, spit flying.

“If you hadn’t leapt out of the snow I’d be in my husbands arms right now!” Making love in the bed they had instead tied the man to. “But the one thing he loves even more than his brand new bride is a mystery to sink his scientific teeth into!”

Heather yelled about how this was the worst day of her life. How this stupid man they had found in the woods had ruined her one chance at a happy honeymoon, that this was her time, how dare he- she told him everything, letting her words burn the cold air of the cabin, echoing off of the thick walls, battling the blizzard outside itself.

“So he’s gone, and I’m stuck here playing zookeeper to… to…”

 

He heard her. He was aware.

 

***

 

Aches. The anger. Pain.

Her. She hurt him. The pain-

She hurt him. Hurt him.

His eyes were open and he was angry. No one hurt him and survived. No one. Not one of them had lived. Not one.

 

The ropes broke as he reared out of the bed, vision red.

 

But his chest still ached.

 

***

 

“What the devil are you?! AHHHHHH!” Heather screamed, threw her arms up, defenseless. He was awake, those claws, she didn’t have the rifle this time, he was going to-!

His feet hit the floor and she closed her eyes and she was about to die ohgod please, please--

 

Nothing happened.

 

***

 

NO.

Nononononononononononono nonono no no-

No!

 

_Dagger hands. The prophecy. Storm’s comin’._

 

He suddenly was aware that he was screaming. Fallen to his knees, the woman forgotten as he cradled his hands. He was crying. 

Pain. Pain. 

The ache in his chest blinded him.

 

***

 

For a long, choked moment, Heather was shocked. She stood, curled slightly against the wall still, petrified and relived and- 

Oh.

It hit her and the breath left her body and her face went cold and the world lost it’s power and the blizzard shriveled and she felt like dead leaves fluttering across sidewalk chalk.

The man had seen the claws- the ones that tore through the skin between his fingers-

 

God. 

God, he was _sobbing._

 

XXX


End file.
